


The Traitor and The Bear Jew

by sergeant_donny_donowitz



Category: Inglourious Basterds (2009)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-18
Updated: 2020-05-18
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:21:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24245713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sergeant_donny_donowitz/pseuds/sergeant_donny_donowitz
Summary: You were inflitrating a patrol that the basterds captured, putting you in an odd position. Odder still, you find love behind the threat of a baseball bat, and an old friend.
Relationships: Donny Donowitz/Reader
Comments: 1
Kudos: 35





	The Traitor and The Bear Jew

“TEDDY FUCKING WILLIAMS KNOCKS IT OUT OF THE PARK! FENWAY PARK ON ITS FEET FOR TEDDY FUCKIN’ BALLGAME! HE WENT YARD ON THAT ONE, OUT TO FUCKIN’ LANSDOWNE STREET…” Donny barely glanced at the remaining enemies. He wasn’t wasting time, after all, a basterd’s work was never done.

He looked at one of the nazis. He crying and shaking in the face of the Bear Jew’s justice. “YOU.” The Nazi’s futile attempt to escape was shot down by Hirschberg’s gun.

“Damn it, Hirschberg.”

Aldo sighed… He was hoping to get something useful out of their captive audience…and they were running out of them.

He chewed on his sandwich and looked at you, half annoyed, mostly disinterested. “Bring the girl.”

Donny glanced to the remaining nazis. You were among them. But you were anything but a nazi.

In fact, you were a traitor.

At least…to the nazi high command.

In the brief instant that Donny looked to the survivors, he saw something he’d never seen before. He’d heard of laughing in the face of death. In fact, it was one of the Basterds’ favorite past times, but no one, not a single soul, living or dead, had ever smiled in the face of the Bear Jew’s wrath.

Not like you.

At best, you were a traitor to the nazis, and you expected that at some point you would be killed for your pursuit of justice and revenge.

At worst, your charade and double life would be too convincing to the basterds, and you’d be seen as just another enemy.

Your truth, your story was nothing but a rumor trickling down the OSS lines.

You were a German, but you were no nazi. You were young, but you remembered a time where the world was a big place. There were no tanks, no raids. Friends, families, cities weren’t divided by rallies and hatred… People didn’t disappear in the middle of the night. Entire communities weren’t slaughtered… Neighbors didn’t betray each other. They invited each other over for dinner. They went to clubs together. Swing wasn’t outlawed then. Humanity wasn’t seen as a weakness. Schools were full. Shop windows weren’t broken or vandalized. Entire neighborhoods didn’t just disappear… 

You remembered a world where there was justice.

And when that world collapsed, when your best friend was murdered for her faith, when your neighbors vanished, when everything changed, you did too. You became a traitor in a heartbeat. If you had to die a traitor trying to restore that world, you would.

And by the looks of it, you were going to.

And you were going out watching the infamous basterds.

You joined the nazis, but you used their information against them. You tended to have an easier time gaining officers’ trust, and it doomed them. You usually rummaged through their documents as your gun was still smoking, or your knife still dripping, searching for leads that could save a life. You used them to warn, and save their targets. You’d done it for years. You always anticipated dying before the war’s end, but you pictured it a different way: against a wall, facing a firing squad back in Germany.

This was not it.

No one would ever know your story… just a distant memory of those you saved, and you accepted that.

You could plead. You could tell the basterds the whole story… the truth…but it was far too good to be true.

Who would believe a word from a person a step away death? You wouldn’t lie, that wasn’t the problem, it was that they wouldn’t believe.

You tested that theory.

You made it short and sweet. You told Wicki you were infiltrating Werner’s team, and you were a traitor to the nazis. You’d helped save dozens of Jews in the past year alone.

Unfortunately, your theory was right, as you observed Aldo the Apache sighing in disbelief, and Wicki’s amusement in translating what he believed was utter bullshit. 

You glanced at the other basterds, now that a gun wasn’t directly trained on you.

You glanced up to a higher ledge…and spotted an old friend. It had been quite some time…

Hugo Stiglitz.

You were friends, once. Long ago, long before the war. You were just teenagers then. You walked to school every day of your lives, your mothers were best friends. You were there the day he became an orphan. You were always there for each other back then. But, once the nazis took over, you were both older, you’d been distanced for some time because you’d chosen a different university, your jobs never matched up… And then he joined the Gestapo. You avoided him. You hated him. You could never stand to see him.

You didn’t know he waited in the market every Saturday, just for a chance to tell you the truth. Just for a chance to see his last true friend. He was certain you’d understand…But you never showed up.

Six years had passed. He didn’t recognize you. You weren’t surprised. He was always a clueless boy…

And…you weren’t quite the same either. You had short brown hair when you last saw each other. You were once a ballerina, you played the violin and dreamed of a quiet life in a small town. You traded your ballet slippers and bow for a sniper and a pack.

You were a little taller, your build was more of a warrior than a ballerina after carrying a pack and a burden all those years.

You couldn’t simply claim to know him. After all, Werner was right. Everyone in the German army had heard of Hugo Stiglitz. You’d changed your name to cover your tracks after one botched kill, and your dogtag couldn’t prove your true identity.

Still, you were you at heart. No one could deny that.

“Ask her about them Germans in the orchard. I needa know ‘bout them snipers. How many there are, what they got on ‘em.”

Wicki translated, though you didn’t need it, you thought it might be rude to point it out after all that time. The truth was, you didn’t know about the troops up the road, and you told them so. 

Again, it was too good to be true. 

Aldo sighed, “God damn it. Donny!”

You lowered your head, ready to accept your death as you were thrown to your knees, at the mercy of the one they called Donny.

You bit your bottom lip with a sigh as you looked at the man about to murder you, with nothing but respect and admiration in your eyes as you glanced at the bat with the names.

Donny looked at you. He shifted for a moment. He hesitated. He blinked forcefully, and shook his head once. “Come on, Donny,” he thought to himself.

Still, he looked back at Aldo. Donny never thought he’d hesitate in killing a nazi. He’d never killed a woman before, but…a nazi was a nazi.

He looked you in the eyes. He saw something he didn’t see in Werner’s eyes, or in the eyes of any nazi he’d encountered before: a soul.

He saw humanity. In the depths of your eyes, he saw the mischievous threads of a cunning mind. He saw an honorable acceptance of fate. It wasn’t a psychotically blood-driven acceptance of death for your country like Werner’s. In his eyes, Donny didn’t see “bravery,” he saw blankness.

Yours were human.

You didn’t glare into Donny’s eyes like Werner did. You didn’t look down at the ground and stain it with your tears like Private Butz did.

You looked toward the horizon, west, toward the freedom you have to others, and the freedom you were willing to die for as a traitor.

All you could hear was your own heartbeat, and the slight breeze tussling the leaves.

Then, you heard the lieutenant’s voice, “Last chance soldier,” followed by Wicki’s translation.  
“Er sagt eine letzte Chance, Soldat.”

You were silent for a moment. Your eyes sauntered from the horizon, back to Donny’s.

He couldn’t help but shift again, changing up his grip on the bat as he awaited Aldo’s instructions.

Donny gulped… something was different about you.

There was not a trace of cruelty in your eyes.

For a moment…he believed you. He believed every word of your story.

It was the truth after all, but…Aldo was older, and wise, and had a habit of reminding his men that if they hear a story too good to be true, ‘it ain’t.’

Donny clenched his teeth… bracing himself as a wave sympathy took him by surprise, something he’d never felt before.

But orders were orders…

He took a breath, and raised his bat as Aldo nodded to him.

Your voice was soft, but wasn’t trembling. It was a small, simple request. You wanted to sound polite. You wanted to take that chance. “May I speak to Hugo?”

Your voice wasn’t shaking in fear, it didn’t reveal a tell in your state of mind, it didn’t give way to a hateful rant.

Donny froze, bat still in the air, eyes still trained on you. 

The Basterd’s stood still, unaware you were able to understand them the entire time.

Wicki was a little annoyed, admittedly.

Donny’s arms had been hanging high, ready to swing… He lowered the bat, and stood in confusion.

Aldo raised an eyebrow, and lowered his sandwich for a moment.

Hugo took a step back. He turned to face you, he hadn’t quite been paying attention, being entertained by Donny beating nazis with a baseball bat, after all.

He knew the voice was familiar.

After he squinted, so was your face. Your hair was longer, and… blonde…. He’d never admit he thought it looked better before.

A few steps closer, and he saw a scar on your forearm. It had been there since you were kids, running around Frankfurt. You fell, skinned your knee and your arm that day.

He knew you.

He knew you too well. He knew you were telling the truth.

“Wait.”

He slid down the ledge, and set his gun down as the basterds turned to him, “Donny, put the bat down.”

“What?” Donny wasn’t sure if he was more confused over what he was feeling, or because Hugo was speaking more…

Hugo wasn’t playing. “The girl goes free.”

The basterds by then knew better than to ever question Hugo Stiglitz.

He stood over you. It was you…it was definitely you, and he smiled. Hugo actually smiled, ashamed he hadn’t known before, as he held his hand out, and pulled you to your feet, “(Y/n)…”

You smiled, “Hugo.”

When you heard he was a traitor and what he really did in the gestapo, you cried. You should’ve known better, and you wished you’d spoken to him. You should’ve known he was better than that.

You should’ve known he was no more of a nazi than you were.

He smiled as you stood face to face, and he hugged you…  
You were taken aback, for a moment. You slowly reached your arms around him. It just wasn’t a very Hugo thing to do. He wasn’t much of a hugger, even before the war.

It was nice…

“What are you doing here?!” He gestured to your uniform. You smirked a little, and gestured to his basterd friends. “What are you doing here?” When you looked at the basterds, your gaze wandered over Donny for a moment longer….

Omar shook his head in confusion, “What’s going on?!”

Hugo turned to the basterds. “SHe's is telling the truth. She’s a friend…an old friend. I know her.” He glanced at you with a sly grin, “I know a traitor anywhere.”

Utivich was still suspicious. “A traitor…what exactly did you do?”

Donny turned to look at you, a wave of relief cooling him down as he registered everything. It really was almost too good to be true.

But he was grateful it was true.

He listened to you. He listened to every word.

He loved it.

The way you moved, the way you spoke: the elegance in the words you chose, the almost shy smirk in the four letter words you knowingly dropped.

He hung on to every word that fell from your lips.

“I had to. I stole the lists, made copies of them. I’d figure out which Jewish families they were looking for next. I would sneak away, warn them, sometimes I’d lead them to homes that would keep them safe. There were a few I was able to smuggle onto ships that would eventually take them to England. Had to kill a nazi or two along the way. For all intents and purposes, I am a traitor. I’m a fucking traitor, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

The basterds were amazed…

They liked you. You had guts, they had to admit.

Donny liked you… He liked every single thing about you. You had heart, you had guts, you definitely had brains. He liked the way you spoke. He liked the way you stood, brazen, and unmovable, like a rocky cliff facing the endless and brash ocean. He liked the way your eyes revealed your heart, and who you were. 

He hated to admit it….but he might have fallen for you.

He was almost in a daze as you explained yourself.

He snapped back when Aldo rose to his feet, walked over and stood face to face with you. You weren’t sure what to expect from the man from Maynardville.

You were surprised, “Well, Y/N… seein’ that your old team’s nearly defunct…” Aldo glanced over at the last nazi that was being guarded by Hirschberg, then back at you, “How would you like to be a basterd?”

You raised a mischievous eyebrow, and couldn’t help but smile a little as you looked back at Hugo, one of your oldest friends.

You looked back at Donny, your almost-killer, and…the most beautiful man you had ever laid eyes on. You gazed at the disfigured body of your former sergeant, Werner. You glanced at the blood of your former "team". You watched as the only other survivor of Rachtman’s post: Private Butz, who was shaking in fear as tears streamed down his face.

You had no pity on him, or anyone else on that post.

“Now, before you say anything, soldier, I got a warnin’ for you. You join my team…my team, my men, my command, you take on a debit. A debit you owe me, personally.”

You smiled, not just because you had admired them, and had desparately wished the rumors about the basterds to be true…but because you would get a chance to patch things up with your old friend… and, as you looked to Donny Donowitz, you blushed. Aside from that, you always thought the accents in American movies were exaggerated…yet there stood Aldo Raine.

“You join ‘em boys there, and you owe me one hundred nazi scalps, just like 'em. You understand?”

You were unbothered, mostly because as of January of that year, your body count could have paid off the debt. But you had no problem with doing it all over again. You gladly would, and you’d double it if it meant justice and freedom for the innocent, for Jews, the roma, any and everyone that was unjustly stripped of everything.

“Yes, sir.”

Your new lieutenant smiled, set down his sandwich, and picked up a rifle that had the term 'inglourious basterds,’ carved into it. He tossed it to you, and handed you your knife. “You’ll be needin’ these, soldier.”

You nodded, beaming with pride. You looked down at your knife, realizing it needed sharpening, you intended to look back to Hugo, having heard of his skills with a knife as passing rumors when you heard he was arrested.

But instead of Hugo, you nearly ran into your new sergeant. Donny’s left hand rested on the back of his neck, his right arm relaxed so the tip of the bat was dragging on the ground. He was embarrassed, and relieved. He didn’t know what he’d do if he’d killed someone on their side…and he was embarrased he didn’t speak up, especially when he believed you. “I…uh.. How about we start over, kid?”

You smiled, of course. It would be nice. It was always nice to start over.

“My name’s Donny.”

Your soft chuckle, and smiling eyes captivated him as you responded, “I know.”

Through the blood, grime, and shadow of war that coated you like any soldier, there was some light behind your eyes, a sheer need for retribution, for freedom, for justice.

He could tell.

And he loved you for it. He’d never forgive himself if he’d killed an innocent person, though in the eyes of the nazis you were far from innocent, in his eyes, you were simply trying to make the world a better place. He respected that. In fact, he respected the hell out of you, and admired the way you faced your fate. But, he was still ashamed… he’d never forgive himself if he had done it. It was at that moment that he swore to himself he’d never hurt you. He’d never let anyone hurt you. He promised himself that if anyone so much as laid a finger on you, he’d kill them.

You reached your hand out to shake his, but you both stopped for a moment. The second your fingertips even grazed each other, you took his breath away, and he made your eyes shy away. Soldier to soldier, heart to heart, traitor to basterd, you both understood. You both knew it. Everything was going to change.

Everything was going to be alright.

You looked into each other’s eyes for a moment longer than you should have, and you turned away, your cheeks were burning as he looked up, biting back a nervous laugh.

“Donny, bring that other one over here. Alive.”

Donny didn’t hesitate. Not anymore.

He took up his bat, and looked at you. Both of you were smirking.

It was the beginning of more than just a wartime love story. It was the beginning of something that the nazis would come to fear: You were the one and only person that could handle the Bear Jew. You were the one and only person he would drop everything to protect, (though you didn’t need much protecting, after all, Aldo had a habit of calling you 'a regular Annie Oakley.’) Still, word did spread that if any nazi so much as aimed in your general direction, they’d have a short, and unnegotiable encounter with the Bear Jew. 

The last thing they’d ever see was his wrath, his wild eyes, and a bloodstained baseball bat.

But the first thing you saw each morning after that was a brief, flash of his loving, warm eyes, and a secretive, knowing smile, just before he called the basterds to stand at attention.


End file.
